Ginny Weasley and the Faulty Floo
by Ella Not Lotte
Summary: 'I open my mouth to say "Wizards' Finance Quarterly" but it comes out more like "Ahhh-CHOO!"' Ginny Weasley finds herself in a tricky situation. AU, Written for the D/G Fic Exchange Winter 2011 and re-posted to my account. Hints of D/G.
1. Chapter 1

**A.N.: Alright, so I wrote this story **_**ages**_** ago for the D/G fiction exchange and I've had it on my computer for **_**years **_**(okay, okay, 8 months, same difference). But I've finally gotten around to uploading it on my account (probably because I have something else I'm supposed to be doing right now).**

**I don't own Harry Potter. If I did, Ginny and Draco would be married with pink-haired babies. And Draco would have all his hair.**

**I present to you the winner of "Most in Need of a Sequel":**

_**Ginny Weasley and the Faulty Floo**_

-**Chapter One**-

POLICE TESTIMONY- GINEVRA MOLLY WEASLEY

TAKEN UNDER MILD TRUTH POTION COMBINED WITH COMPULSION DRAFT

3RD SEPTEMBER, 2001

THIS TRANSCRIPT WAS TAKEN WITH A QUICK QUOTES QUILL (COPYRIGHT)

So you probably want to know what I was doing with Draco Malfoy in his house, when by all means I should have been at work that day, Officer. Well, I suppose that that's a fair question. I'm asking it myself. I suppose it was fate or destiny or some such bollocks like that. You don't believe me? Well, I'll just have to tell you about it. So listen up, because I'm not going to repeat this story, it's too embarrassing. God, I sound like him. A few hours with him and I already _sound _like him. Just hex me now…

So I'm not even out of bed and I can already tell that today is going to be utterly horrid. I can't stand the sound of that stupid phone ringing; it's splitting my head in two so that I can't think. My throat is scratchy and sore, my nose is so stuffed up it's about to fall off, and I have just about the worst job in the worl-

I sit up with a shriek that would make old Mrs. Black jealous, right hand groping desperately for my alarm. _What time is it?_Once I do finally locate it, it's in my hand for maybe a second and a half, because all it tells me is that I'm 'very late indeed.'

To top it all off, the phone's still ringing.

Stumbling half-asleep into the hallway, I pick it up, gasping, "Ginny Weasley speaking, who is this?"

"Weasley, what the _hell_are you doing still at home? No, don't even answer that, I don't care. Just get your lazy arse into work before I get over there and hex you into next quarter!" Well, fuck me. If it isn't Cho Chang, the horrible bitch who just happens to be my supervisor at the magazine. (You won't tell her I called her a bitch will you, Officer? No? Good.)

What magazine, you're asking? Oh, how incredibly rude of me. Let me properly introduce myself. We haven't really met, have we? I'm Ginevra Molly Weasley, Ginny to those who are below the age of 150 and aren't my mum. I myself am 20 years old, and I work as an underpaid slave- erm, I mean, _intern_- at "Wizards' Finance Quarterly." Don't laugh at me! I suppose that I should be working to get promoted to a writer, as no _real_ paper will ever hire me if I don't prove I can write, but I can't bring myself to try to care about the stock in flobberworm breeding, which somehow manages to be gut-wrenchingly disgusting and tear-jerkingly boring at the same time. Oh, and Cho Chang, the boss' daughter and aforementioned superior? She hates my guts because Harry Potter won't stop bugging me. And I _know _it's for that reason because every time I start making some headway into getting her to _not_ hate my guts, he shows up and asks me out, and she goes back to being a complete and total _bitch_.

Merlin, it's not like I _planned_ for my life to suck like this at age 20. I had always just assumed that, what with my skill set, I would be offered a million and three jobs fresh from school. Actually, when the job offer for WFQ came in, I tossed it in the bin with a laugh and a sneer and told an admonishing Hermione Granger that I wasn't going to waste my prime at a boring place like _that. _(If you don't know who Hermione is, just know that she is the bossiest person ever.)

A week later, I found myself digging frantically through said bin, as none of the other job offers I'd imagined had materialized. You see, Hermione is not only bossy, she's oftentimes _right_, which is probably the most annoying combination of character traits that someone can have. It turns out that you need connections in the world of journalism more than you need skills. I think that it's a miracle that I didn't strangle Draco Malfoy when I next saw him, because he was always going on and on about connections when we were in school, and then he turned out to be _right_. Merlin, how embarrassing. (No! I don't actually _want_to strangle him. Merlin! It's a figure of speech, Officer!)

Anyway, I ended up digging through the trash bin, because while eating my words is unpleasant, it was far better than not eating at all. Or admitting to my family that they had been right and I couldn't support myself. Oh, I shudder to think what my mum would do with such ammunition.

And that's about my life's story. Or the pertinent bits.

I let out a few choice curse words at my coffeemaker as it chooses to die an extremely dramatic death halfway through making me a cup. I down Pokey's cough medicine (Although, as it makes you sneeze, it's really just as bad as having no medicine at all. It's all I can afford as an underpaid slave- I mean, intern- at WFQ, though.) and trudge reluctantly over to the fireplace.

"Well," I mutter to myself, "here goes nothing."

I grab the smallest possible pinch of Floo Powder from the cracked china cup I keep my supply in, and toss it in. The flames roar up, green in the worst possible way, like Harry Potter's annoyingly emerald eyes, and I open my mouth to say "Wizards' Finance Quarterly" but it comes out more like "Ahhh-CHOO!" because Pokey's cough medicine may be crap but it is, as promised, fast-acting.

Let me tell you something about going through the Floo Network with absolutely no destination whatsoever: it _hurts_. As I shoot aimlessly though the Network, I bump into corners and fireplaces just as often as I avoid them. I'm probably going to have to add nausea and concussion to my list of symptoms when I get out- _if _I get out, that is.

I don't know exactly how long I'm in the Floo Network- I mean, I'm not looking at my watch as I'm spinning out of control, and the only thought that's going through my mind is variants of 'Oh Merlin, I'm going to die,' except with more curse words and less coherency. But it _feels_ like _forever_. And just when I've resigned myself to an eternity of flying about the Floo Network, it spits me out onto this expensive, high grade wood floor- the type that you can only buy from the Brazilian rainforest or the mountains of Tibet or something. A very _hard_wood floor, I might add.

Now, at this point I'm pretty shaken. I mean, I've just taken a trip though the Floo Network at its very worst and landed on this horrid floor, but even _I_know what imported floors mean. They mean snobby people. Anyone who's willing to pay that much money for their floor to be transported from some far-off place from some endangered forest is going to be a cold-hearted bastard like Draco Malfoy. The kind of cold-hearted bastard who would have a poor girl like me arrested and fine me for dirtying up their imported floor with Floo Network soot and blood traitor sweat. So I know that I have to beat it, and fast. I think that whoever this snob is wouldn't mind if I borrowed just a pinch of their overflowing pot of Floo Powder, so I take a tiny pinch of it, toss it in, and prepare myself to step back into the flames when it happens. The Floo Network breaks. I mean, literally, it breaks. The flames turn green at first, but then there's this almighty crunching sound, and they turn back to red and disappear.

I let out a few more choice words at this and step back from the fireplace. Great. Not only am I going to have to pay for staining the Snob's floor with ash, I'm going to have to pay for the Floo Network to be fixed. And repairmen are always late, so the Snob, whoever they are, will probably blame me for that, too, because that's what Snobs like Draco Malfoy do, even if they aren't necessarily Draco Malfoy. I decide to let myself out the front door.

It was a supremely bad idea, because let me tell you, the Snob's flat is _big_. I'd assumed I was in an apartment like mine, but there are ten bedrooms and two lofts and I walk into three or four different kitchens at least. It's a nightmare. More and more, I regret not staying where I was. I mean, I probably would have starved to death before the Snob would have found me anyway. (It doesn't occur to me to use my wand, Officer, because it's only been three years since I turned seventeen and habits are hard to break.)

I'm walking through yet another identical hallway with yet another priceless painting hanging in it (except this one's a little different, because this one has a chaise- yes, a chaise- in it) when I hear the water turn off. I panic, but unfortunately for me, my fight-or-flight response doesn't seem to be working properly today, and all I can do is stand in the middle of the hall, frozen, while the door right in front of me opens.

And that's when I realize that the tenant of this flat- or penthouse, or whatever- is exactly like Draco Malfoy, right down to his very finely muscled abs.

-  
>This story was originally written for:<p>

**Ali's Prompt III**  
><strong>Basic premise:<strong> Ginny, for whatever reason, sneezes as she says the name of [insert location here] while Flooing, and manages to find herself in the fireplace of (guess who?) Draco Malfoy. Coincidentally, said Malfoy has just come out of the shower, towel wrapped around his waist. Let the awkwardness ensue.  
><strong>Must haves:<strong> Dirty-minded Draco making plenty of innuendos, some of which go over Ginny's head, some of which don't. A blushing Ginny, who, despite desperately wishing to leave, has seemingly forgotten how to Apparate.  
><strong>No-no's:<strong> Nothing very serious. It should be playful!  
><strong>Rating Range:<strong> T+  
><strong>Bonus points:<strong> Silk boxers. (Mentioned, or making an appearance...)

**A.N.: So that's the first bit done. When I've gotten enough reviews or have some more time or something, I'll put the second half up. Please review!**

**Thanks to my beta Farielle for reading it over again now that you aren't under a ridiculous deadline. You're awesome.**

**Cheers,**

**-Ella**


	2. Chapter 2

**_Oh dear. I had thought that I'd uploaded this eons ago. I was even planning to post another chapter promoting the sequel. But then there was only one chapter, and I realized that I had never gotten around to putting the second chapter up._**

**_As always, I'm not Rowling. I'm nowhere near as awesome as the masterful wordsmith who created these characters that I so love to manipulate._**

**_This chapter is dedicated to the poor anonymous reviewer who inspired me to fix the beginnings of the sequel and therefore made finishing this story possible. If I knew who you were, oh anonymous, I would PM you right this second to tell you that I have not abandoned this story._**

**_Happy Reading!_**

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><p>Previously, on <em><strong>Ginny Weasley and the Faulty Floo<strong>_:

_I'm walking through yet another identical hallway with yet another priceless painting hanging in it (except this one's a little different, because this one has a chaise in it) when I hear the water turn off. I panic, but unfortunately for me, my fight-or-flight response doesn't seem to be working properly today, and all I can do is stand in the middle of the hall, frozen, while the door right in front of me opens._

_And that's when I realize that the tenant of this flat- or penthouse, or whatever- is exactly like Draco Malfoy, right down to his very finely muscled abs._

-**Chapter Two**-

So I'm torn between thanking the gods and cursing them, because he's wearing a towel around his waist. Because even though Draco Malfoy is a Snob, he's probably the most attractive Snob there ever was. I'm not usually one to wax poetic over Snobs like Draco Malfoy, but he _is_ rakishly gorgeous at this moment. His hair, usually platinum blonde, is almost slate when wet, and in this casual disarray, drops of water sparkling off the ends where it frames his angular face. I avoid looking at said face, because I know it probably has an ugly sneer on it. Instead, my eyes follow a droplet of water which has just fallen onto his chest and is currently making its languid way down… Between his pectorals, and he must get his chest waxed because he doesn't have a chest hair in sight… All the better to see him, I suppose, so I'm not complaining. And then the drop continues down along his stomach, and I tell my mouth to stop hanging open already as the water drop makes its way into the trial of almost-invisible hair under his belly button and into his towel. I decide that I'm definitely cursing that towel, because I've never been so jealous of a water droplet in my life. (Gods, Officer, did I really have to take that truth potion? Merlin, this is _so_ embarrassing.)

As for what Malfoy's doing, he stands there for a moment, frozen in what I presume is shock (but of course no emotion ever reaches his face, so I can't rightfully say), before he folds his arms across his chest and smirks smugly, his grey eyes sparking with malicious glee. After all, he _is_ a bully.

"Really, Weasley, I knew you were desperate, but this is certainly unexpected." His smirk widens, which I'm sure means that he thinks he's said something oh-so-witty, but what he's just said makes no sense. Shouldn't he be demanding I pay him for ruining his floors?

"Um… pardon?"

"Well, of course you've come to see if the rumors about me are true. I'm sorry, Weasley, but I don't let little blood traitors into my bedroom, no matter how attractive they are." And then, of course, the extremely witty thing he said earlier makes sense, and I turn bright red. Out of rage, of course, because there is no _way_ that I would ever go to bed with Draco Malfoy. Well, maybe if he asked nicely enough. But that's beside the point, because he never will, because he's a SNOB. So there! (Officer, is this really necessary? Yes? Very well, I'll continue.)

"Malfoy, I am _not_ here to try to seduce you!" I shout. He cringes, and the part of me that's slightly detached from the situation nods in satisfaction, because getting a reaction from the unruffled Draco Malfoy isn't exactly an easy thing to do, and I've managed to do it on my second try.

"Oh, really? Because Blaise Zabini told me that you're simply _dying_ to know if what they say about my Quidditch set in the break room at WFQ is true." He raises one eyebrow coolly, back to being unruffled. Gods, I hate when he does that. It's like he doesn't even have enough energy to spare on me to raise both of his eyebrows. And anyway, Phoebe Fawcett was the one who'd made the tacky comment about his Quidditch set, not me. "I suppose that if you're not going to seduce me, you're thinking of paying me?" At this he laughs. Obviously, he thinks that he's funny.

I calm myself by thinking of ways to kill him with the extremely expensive print hanging on the wall behind us, which I've identified as an original Monet. Gods, what is _he_ doing with an original Monet in his house? He probably doesn't even appreciate it.

And then it hits me. Maybe he doesn't know about me ruining his floors yet. Maybe I can still get out without paying. And here I am, thinking he's this omnipotent terrorist.

"Well, then, I'll just go. I can see that you're busy." I turn on my heel to Apparate off and...

Nothing happens. He starts laughing, and I shoot him a glare.

"Malfoy," I say through gritted teeth, "I need you to drop the wards on your house so I can Apparate away, please."

"Oh, but love," he says languidly, shooting me another smirk, "I don't have any wards."

Well now I'm fucked.

I try again anyway. At this point, I don't even care that Draco Malfoy is standing there, too good-looking and too snobbish for words because I can still get out without him realizing that I've broken the Floo Network and ruined his floors and I won't have to pay him, because even though he'll know it was me, his pride's too big to even _admit_ that I was in his house, or that he let me get away.

"What is it, Weasley? Is it too _hard_ for you?" Draco snickers at his extremely immature joke from where he's watching, reclined on that stupid chaise (I mean, who puts a _chaise_ in a hallway?) still in his almost-unclothed state.

"Oh, shove it, Malfoy." I go back to elementary rules of Apparition. Step one. Clear your head.

"Where, Weasley?"

"Up your arse."

"Ouch, Weasley, that one hurt. I think you may have actually wounded my pride." Of course, he says this in his stupid, nonchalant, _unruffled_ tone, so it only serves to make me even angrier. I skip step one. I'll probably Splinch myself, but I don't care. Step two. Hold your wand in your wand hand. My right hand goes towards my robes for-

"My wand! It's not there! I've lost it!" It must have fallen out when I was flying through the Floo Network.

"Well of course you don't have a wand, Weasley, you're a girl." I glare at him, but I've already blown up at him so much that he's used to it. "Oh, you meant your wand, not your _wand_."

"Malfoy, I need your wand."

"I thought we went over this. I don't allow blood traitors in my bedroom. Unless you're willing to do it out here?" He raises an eyebrow at me mockingly, and I blow my top. Well, I'm not known for having a lot of patience.

"MALFOY! I'm _sick_ of your stupid innuendo! Now give me your wand NOW, so I can summon mine!"

"Oh, you meant my wand, not my _wand_."

"If you say that one more time, Malfoy, I swear, I will…" I stop, because there's nothing that I can do to him without my wand. Not my _wand, _my wand. Gods, I'm becoming him.

"You'll what, Weasley? Jump me? I _knew _you were desperate for some action. Potter doesn't deliver, eh?"

I punch him.

"Merlin's saggy boxer shorts, Weasley! That hurt! What the _fuck_ was that for?" he clutches his arm and glares at me, but he's gotten a fair bit tougher since he was seventeen and I saw him last, so he handles it pretty well. For a Snob.

"What was that _for?_ _What was that for?_ You're seriously asking me that question, Malfoy? A brain-dead Flobberworm could tell you what that was _for, _you great prat! I'm not here to jump you because of your incredible attractiveness or prowess in bed or something like that-"

"So you're admitting that I'm incredibly attractive and talented, though?" I shoot him a look and he falls silent, cowed.

"As I was saying, I was _trying_ to get to work when I sneezed and then I ended up _here_ and I broke your Floo and I lost my wand, and you're going to charge me for dirtying your floor," at this he gives me a strange look, but I continue, "and I'm going to be _fired _you _snob!_" I let out an angry breath that definitely _isn't_ a sob and angry tears begin pouring down my cheeks. "And to top it all off, I'm sick." And then I sneeze, as if to prove I'm not lying.

"Merlin Weasley, don't _cry_," Malfoy says, in this mildly panicked voice. I suppose he has every right to be mildly panicked, because I've shown up at his house, demanded he give me his wand, rambled like a lunatic, and then started bawling. Actually, he's handling me quite well. I'm surprised he hasn't Owled the Wizard Police yet. (He didn't owl you, did he, Officer? No? Okay, good.) But then a second later, I revoke this sentiment, because he sprints off into another room and locks the door.

"Oh, no way, Malfoy, I don't care that I'm acting like a lunatic, you're staying out here, with me, until I get to work and that's _final_!" I start pounding on the door and Malfoy says something, but I can't hear it. Then I remember that, while I've lost my wand, probably somewhere in the Floo Network, I'm still a witch and I'm pretty good at wand-less magic. And so I stand back and shout "Alohamora!" and fortunately for me it comes out sounding alright, and I don't sneeze and botch it like I did the Floo. The lock pops open, and I rush into the room, only to be met with a sight which will haunt me to my dying day. Draco Malfoy, in boxer shorts. And not just _any_ boxer shorts; these were top of the line, cost-more-than-you-get-paid-in-a-day, _silk_ boxer shorts.

I guess that Malfoy was saying "I'm getting dressed."

"What part of 'I'm getting dressed' do you not understand, Weasley?" a furious Draco Malfoy demands, and I respond in the only way that I know how to; I mock him.

"Silk boxers, Malfoy?" I snort, "Really? I suppose I should have guessed that a pansy like you would wear silk boxer shorts, but I was going to give you more credit than that."

Malfoy sneers at me. "Just because you can't tell the difference between being 'a pansy' and having class doesn't mean that I can't, Weasley. I suppose that your brothers buy their boxers in plastic six packs from chain department stores once every few years?" I flush, because that's essentially the truth. Malfoy smirks and saunters off, and I could just strangle him. I'm regretting not strangling him when I had the chance, back when he had been standing still outside the bathroom, and I was too busy imagining what it was like as a drop of water gliding down his perfect abs…

"So are you going to leave, Weasley, or are you staying to enjoy the show?" he asks, and I scowl at him and storm out of his room, even more furious at him, even though I'm the one who barged in on him. I don't know why he chose such an odd time to get dressed, though. It's like he _wanted_ to confuse me.

I sit on the chaise, and try not to think about the arse of the previous occupant, until said previous occupant comes out. Unfortunately, he's now fully dressed, meaning that I can't look at his bare chest anymore, and I momentarily wish that I'd taken a little longer to appreciate it when I'd had the chance. Then he turns around, and says, "follow me," over his shoulder casually, as if I were a friend and not an old enemy who he hasn't spoken to in years, and I notice that his trousers are quite deliciously tight in the back. So perhaps it's not a complete waste that he's dressed. (I can't believe that I'm saying this! Officer, what was in that truth potion?)

He leads through a few rooms and then into one of the kitchens, and he pulls out his wand and flicks it and a tea kettle rushes to the sink and begins to fill itself. I feel the absence of my own wand like a huge, gaping hole in myself, and I ask in a small voice, "Could you summon my wand, just to make sure it didn't fall out of my robes somewhere in your house?"

He turns with a start, as if he's forgotten I'm there, and looks at me for a moment with an inscrutable expression that I think could be understanding, except that he's a Snob and therefore can't _be_ understanding. But he sort of looks softer around the eyes than normal, almost as if he's remembering… something. And then he's back to his normal self.

"That would be like you, Weasley, wouldn't it? Forgetting your wand somewhere strange?" He sneers, and it stings a little more than his previous sneers did. "Accio Ginny's wand."

We wait for a moment, but nothing happens.

"I guess it's not here." I say. "I didn't forget it somewhere strange, like you said, Malfoy." I glare at him, and then sneeze. The kettle puts itself up, and two cups place themselves on saucers next to two teaspoons.

"Is Ceylon tea okay?" he asks, keeping his voice neutral, although there's this strange undertone in it. He probably is forcing himself not to throw me out on my arse before he figures out what kind of damage I've done to his floors. The Snob.

"Oh, I love Ceylon tea! I mean, Ceylon tea is fine." I catch the hint of a smile around his lips as he turns around towards me. "I would never have guessed that you could make your own tea, Malfoy. Don't you have House Elves?" He looks distinctly uncomfortable, the little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"Well, yes, I do, but it's exhausting to call them every time I need something. They fuss over you constantly, and the more you ask of them the more they want to do. So I try to leave them be and let them go about their business." He fidgets a little where he stands, because obviously he's not used to being questioned.

We sit in silence while the water boils and the tea brews, but not the uncomfortable kind, and then he levitates the cups and spoons into the next room. With a start, I realize that it's the sitting room where I broke the Floo Network. My eyes track immediately to the fireplace and the floor in front of it, but where there should be a large Ginny-shaped soot stain, the floor is impeccable.

"Wh-What?" I stammer, frozen on the spot.

"What is it, Ginny?" Draco's already sitting on the couch, sipping at his tea. I wonder when he became Draco and stopped being Malfoy.

"The soot… it's gone." I point to the foot of the fireplace, and he laughs.

"Well, of course it's gone, soot's not permanent. Keel probably dealt with it as soon as you'd left the room. You really are bizarre, Ginny Weasley." I glare at him and he smirks at me.

"Yeah? Well you're a Snob." I sit down next to him, to show that I don't really mean it. Much.

"At least I'm not dating a git like Potter. Speaking of which, shouldn't he be missing you at home?"

"No, not at all. I don't date Harry. I tend to avoid him on principle." He raises an eyebrow at this, but it feels less like he's doing it because he can't be bothered to raise both eyebrows for me and more that he's in the habit of raising an eyebrow.

"Well then, you have better taste than I thought. No wonder you broke into my house to jump me." I punch him again, but this time I'm laughing, and his smirk is less malicious. My punch isn't designed to hurt him, either. Well, not very much, anyway.

"What I do wonder," he says after a long silence in which we both sip our tea contentedly, "is why you would have wandered so far into my house when my front door is right here." At this, Draco points towards a nondescript door on the other side of the room which nonetheless is clearly the front door, as his coat is hanging next to it and his shoes sit beside it.

"You're kidding," I say, flopping back on the couch, all of the breath leaving my body in one puff. "The only doors I could find seemed to lead me further and further into your house."

His perfect eyebrows draw together, the one time I've ever seen him use both of his eyebrows as the same time, and he says, "Let me take a look at that fireplace." Our places are reversed as he's standing, perplexed, staring at the fireplace and I sip tea on the couch, except that I'm admiring his arse and I'm pretty sure that's not what he was doing when I was standing. For one, I was facing him. For another, he's perfect, and I'm obviously one strike away from being committed… whatever strikes are, Phoebe Fawcett says you only get three of them, and I've already shown up at his house and burst into tears for no real reason.

"Well," he says, and his arse disappears from sight as he turns back around, "I know why you thought the Floo broke, and why it led you to me."

"Oh?" I respond, the paragon of wit.

And that's when the Wizard Police burst into the room.

"Everyone freeze! We have tracked a missing person by the name of Ginevra Weasley to this residence, and we would like her to be returned to us now, please, and if her statement is satisfactory, then charges against you will be dropped."

At that point, I say, "I got lost in the Floo" at that same time Draco says, "That's Ginny Weasley." And then, oddly enough, Phoebe Fawcett is in the house and she has my wand- _my wand! - _in her hand and she's sobbing like I'm dead or something. It's nice to know she'd cry if I were dead, because I'm sure that Hermione would just say "I _told_ her not to do it" and Luna would be Luna, and Blaise Zabini would make innuendo over my coffin and who invited _him_ to my funeral anyway? I wonder if Draco would be sad if I died… but no, because he's a Snob, and Snobs aren't sad when poor girls like me die.

"Oh, Ginny! I'm so glad you're okay! I knew something was wrong because Chang was threatening to fire you, and so I went to your house to get you, because I know how much you love your job," I roll my eyes and pat her hand reassuringly. For a former Ravenclaw she's certainly dumb sometimes, "and then I found _this_," here she brandishes my wand, "and I thought you'd been kidnapped! So I went to the Wizard Police." She lets out another sob, and I shoot a helpless look at Draco, who is pointedly ignoring me. I decide to strangle him next time I see him. Fucking prat. (Figure of speech, Officer, figure of speech!)

And then we all went down to the Wizard Police station, and that's about it. So, Officer, can I _go_ now? Because I'm pretty sure that I'm unemployed, thanks to Draco Malfoy and his snobby flooring. I never _did_ find out why I got sucked into his house like that, I'll have to ask him. Maybe over dinner sometime…

-END OF POLICE TRANSCRIPT-

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><p><em><strong>That's all folks! Now stay tuned for some info on the sequel.<strong>_

**_Cheers,_**

**_-Ella_**

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><p><em><strong>If you're looking at this than I assume that you enjoyed "Ginny Weasley and the Faulty Floo." If that's the case, than stick around and I'll tell you about the sequel. If that's not the case, than why in the world are you still here? Honestly.<strong>_

_**... Go on, leave. I'm not keeping you here**_

_**Ok, now that those losers are gone we can continue.**_

_**An anonymous review prompted me to drag my continuation of the series out of its hibernation and rework it in order to publish it. I'm going to be publishing the first chapter momentarily. I am very busy with college application stuff (and juggling a 25,000 word goal as far as my novel goes), so I can't promise any sort of regular update pattern. However, I do have a goal that involves writing roughly 50,000 words this November, so that means work on fanfiction as well as on original fiction (even though I won't get to win NaNoWriMo as only about half of it is going to be my novel). Anyway, as it goes against site policy to upload chapters that don't contain significant story content, I thought that I'd give you a little taste of what "Ginny Weasley and the Farcical Followup" is going to be like. Enjoy!**_

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><p>Jack Mason hadn't thought that his day could get any worse. It had started unpleasantly enough, as he'd woken up with a crick in his neck. He'd had a row with his wife Ingrid the previous night and she'd kicked him out of their bedroom; he had slept on the couch, hence the neck pain. His kids had Dragon Pox, and he'd spent most of the hour he had before leaving for work cleaning up sick from the bathroom floor (and the walls, and the rug, and the toilet seat). He'd missed breakfast, spilled his coffee on his new white shirt, Ingrid <em>still <em>wouldn't speak to him and on top of that, he was running late for work.

Of course, had he realized what he was about to get himself into, he probably would have just stayed at home.

"Oi, Mason!" barked his boss as he came in the door. "You're late."

"Sorry," he replied wearily. "Joss and Jane are ill."

"No worries. Just as long as you're here. Anyway, remember Malfoy and Weasley, from the Faulty Floo incident?" Jack nodded. He hadn't been on duty that day, but the entire incident had become somewhat of a talking point at the DMLE. It had taken precious hours of the DMLE's day and had turned out to be an over hysterical coworker's overactive imagination.

"Well, they're back. We've got two angry Aurors insisting that Malfoy had kidnapped her and has her under some sort of spell."

"Fantastic." Jack avoided Aurors on principle. They were okay alone, but the second that they were around other Aurors they were unbearable. They thought that, just because they did more high-profile cases than the DMLE detectives, they were more important.

"Oh, I wasn't done," his boss said. "We've also got Weasley's friend, two of Malfoy's exes, and two mothers who are, to quote Moss," (Moss was the duty officer on Wednesdays) " 'utterly bonkers.' Not to mention that Weasley has about half a dozen brothers, give or take."

"I don't envy the poor bastard that has to interview them." As soon as the words left his mouth, Jack knew that he was in for bad news.

"That poor bastard would be you, Mason." His boss beamed at him, her green eyes snapping mirthfully. "Good luck. You'll need it, from what I hear."

Jack Mason groaned. He'd thought that his day couldn't get any worse, but of course he had to be wrong.

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><p><em><strong>Ooh, now you just have to see what happens, don't you? I know that you do. Anyway, stay tuned for Ginny Weasley and the Farcical Followup, coming to a computer near you soon (read: as soon as I proofread it, because I've given up on getting a beta on such short notice).<strong>_


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